


Sleep Here Alone

by Christilistic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5 + 1, Fluff, Growing Up Together AU, Howard Stark’s A+ Parenting, Howards a dick, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kidfic, Light Angst, M/M, Past Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone, Protective Steve, Tiberius Stone - Freeform, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 01:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12520136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christilistic/pseuds/Christilistic
Summary: Five times Steve found Tony crying and one time he made him cry a.k.a. Tony and Steve through the years a.k.a. don’t worry about anything - just take it easy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first avengers fic please go easy on me. also this is shameless hurt/comfort. bye.

As far as first meetings go; Steve certainly wouldn’t put it up there. It wasn’t the _obvious_ beginnings of a love story for the ages - pretty far from it actually. About as far from it as possible. To be really truly honest, it was pretty terrible. ‘I walked into you while you were bawling your eyes out’ style terrible. But when has the universe ever really let them be? Their lives were entwined in a way that, looking back, could only be described as a practical joke on a cosmic scale.

 

Okay so Steve didn’t mean to - and not in the way he didn’t mean to slip and land fist-first on that kid who teased Buck - it was just that the kid was huddled in the crevice formed by the wall and a well-placed desk and it was _dark_. Steve was just trying to get at the linen cupboard, and the squeal as he trod on something soft freaked him out almost as much as the kid evidently was.

Finding his way to the cupboard had become a frequent activity of Steve’s, and one of his most closely kept secrets. He was eight now, way too old to be having accidents - especially now he was at boarding school. His internal dilemma was forgotten though due to the dark form he could now see huddled at his feet.

The boy looked up at him and the first thing Steve thought was how big his eyes were but then he heard the boy sniff wetly and Steve spurred into motion.  
“Oh I’m, I’m sorry-“ He stammered, sliding messily to his knees to comfort the boy.  
“It’s f-fine,” the boy said, his voice breaking in about three different places over the two syllables.  
“Lemme help you up,” Steve supplies, remembering the manners his mom had drilled into him. The boy didn’t say anything, but gave a small nod. Steve pulled them both to their feet, and realised how tiny the boy was. Steve wasn’t tall by any means - his Mom said his growth spurt would hit any day now - but the kid barely came up to his shoulder. Steve tried to reassure him, seeing as he was still making small pitiful sounds, curling his fingers around the boy’s tiny hand. 

“So which room is yours?” Steve says, always ready to take up his destined role as the protector of innocents.  
“Um, I-I dunno...” the boy trails off, and he sounds scared now. His breaths start coming a little faster. “Hey, no, that’s cool. That’s okay. You’re okay, you can just stay in mine tonight!” Steve beams at him, proud with himself and his quick thinking, but he’s not sure if the boy can see it in the dark. 

“Oh, okay,” the boy says, somewhat uncertainly. The crying seems to have stopped from the sound of his voice. Crisis averted, Steve brightens. He’s about to pull the boy down the hall to his room when he remembers the linen closet.  
“Wait a sec,” he says as he gets on his tiptoes to pull down a new blanket. 

“What’s that for?” The boy asks, clearly a little more emboldened. Steve stiffens. He’s about to say nothing, but he’s already seen this boy crying on the floor so maybe he should share his secret too. Then they could make a blood pact to never tell. “...I had an accident,” he supplies.  
“Oh.” The boy doesn’t say anything more, and follows behind Steve as they sneak down the dark corridor, short legs struggling to keep up.

When they get to the door, Steve suddenly stops, and the boy stumbles into him from behind.  
“I forgot to ask what’s your name?” he says, tone entreating.  
“Anthony Stark,” the boy replies, voice more certain now.  
“Nice to meet you Tony! Can I call you that?” Steve says in a theatrical whisper as they enter his room. Bucky is snoring real loud in the other bed. Tony nods, looking a little bewildered. Steve sets about fixing his sheets. Tony watches him silently. 

“You’ll have to sleep in my bed,” Steve says excitedly, belatedly realising how loud his voice has gotten. Tony climbs in beside him.  
“You’re new right? Is this your first night?” Another nod.  
“You’ll be okay. Houghton kinda sucks but it’s not too bad.” He tries to go for an encouraging grin. It doesn’t work. Tony starts crying again.  
“I miss J-Jarvis,” he says through sobs.  
“Who’s that?”  
“My butler...he always reads to me before bed,” Tony says, wiping at his eyes.  
“Woah...you have a butler? That’s cool.” Steve says, snuggling closer to Tony under the blankets.  
“...Yeah?” Tony replies confused. “He looks after our house and stuff. He’s British and speaks really posh.” Steve peppers Tony with questions about his butler and soon the tears have all dried out. Sometime during a recounted tale of a trip to the zoo with Jarvis, Tony fades out.  
Steve takes a bit longer, but the combined sounds of Tony’s small puffs of breath against his collarbone and the low rumble of Bucky’s snores Steve falls asleep too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve thinks he’s a knight in shining armor. Tony just wants to be left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New day, new chapter.

Steve should have realised that his penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time was chronic. There he was, minding his own business like the good kid his mother wished he was, when he spotted Tony. 

Everyone on the school campus knew who Tony was by now. He was in the year above Steve, despite only being nine to Steve’s eleven. He was smart. Really, really smart.

Tony’s first night seemed like some sort of fever dream now. When Steve had woken up in the morning it was to still warm but rumpled sheets and a note in scarily tidy handwriting thanking him for the bed. And, well, they had never really talked much since then. Steve wasn’t stupid - he knew a dismissal when he saw one. Surely Tony must have been lonely though. Steve sometimes saw him in the library, reading books quietly in the corner. He was always alone. But maybe he liked it that way? Besides, even if he wanted a friend, it would hardly be Steve. Steve would never be able to keep up with Tony’s genius. He got a B- on his last math test.

But there Tony was; and it was possibly the closest they had been to each other since that first night. And he was being crowded by three big Seventh graders. Steve had hardly registered the situation before he was running forward.  
“Hey! Pick on someone your own size, you _losers_!”  
Steve wasn’t exactly known for his cutting insults - or taunts (he was hardly the same size as these kids, seeing as he hadn’t quite got to growing out of his wiry phase, but he was doing a bit better than Tony, who had to have hardly grown in all of three years). But he was known for his bull-headed courage. Bucky hated it but hey, what can you do? Steve just couldn’t rest knowing he hadn’t attempted to stop some minor injustice. 

He came flying at the first boy, fists raised. He pummelled him as hard as he could, but unfortunately ‘as hard as he could’ wasn’t much when he was 65 pounds soaking wet. Needless to say, he lost the fight pretty badly. But he had achieved his goal of getting their focus off Tony. Only a short time later the older boys seemed to have grown bored with proceedings and scrammed. 

Steve pulled himself off the ground, assessed his injuries (not too bad, just a black eye and scraped knees) and then ran over to Tony, who was crouched against the brick wall, knees pulled up under his chin and eyes staring at Steve in something like shock. Steve knelt over him and checked his face for injuries. His cheek had an ugly bruise on it, and his eyes were red-rimmed. Steve was about to pull him up and take him to the sick bay, but Tony pushed him away with a growl.  
“Why did you do that?” He spat, still sitting on the ground, but now curled up even more defensively.  
“Because you needed help!” Steve says, pointing out the obvious.  
“I can take care of myself, thanks,” Tony replies, refusing to meet Steve’s eyes.  
“That didn’t really look like you were taking care of it,”  
“And you were doing so much better!” Tony says and well, he had a point. But the important thing here was Tony being okay.  
“It’s just what I do, okay? I can’t just...not do anything.” Tony pouts, but lets Steve pull him off the ground and lead him quietly to the med bay. 

Five minutes later and Steve has a lollipop and an icepack to press against his eye. Tony has a pink bandaid high on his cheekbone that he is daring Steve to say anything about. The silence stretches on awkwardly.

Tony breaks it after a few more torturous minutes.  
“So what do you want? Lunch money? Help with your homework?” Tony asks quietly, eyes on the floor.  
“What?” Steve asks loudly, confused by where the offer came from.  
“As repayment. For the, uh. For helping me.” Tony shrugs.  
“Dude, no! I wasn’t doing it so I could take your lunch money. Why would you think that?” Steve is personally affronted. He’s not a _bully_. He hates bullies.  
“Well, it’s...like debt,” Tony says, tone unsure.  
“What, like a bank? Don’t be stupid there’s no...debt.”  
“Oh.”  
Steve pauses for a moment before hesitantly going on, “Well, there is one thing you could do for me,” he starts, inserting “you don’t have to!” as an aside at Tony’s wide eyed look.  
“Just, uh, have lunch with me? And Bucky, he’s my friend and kinda lame but -“  
“I remember.” Steve is thrown off for a moment before he remembers that night and Bucky’s not so gentle snores.  
“Right, well. Why don’t you sit with us?” It takes a little more wheedling but once he gets a hesitant agreement from Tony he does a fist pump. Him and Tony are gonna be friends. Probably best friends. Steve can just _tell._

_. . ._

_Steve is right. Tony makes a joke that causes Bucky to snort out his drink and Steve sees Tony’s smile for the first time ever. It’s perfect. And maybe if the next day, Tony shows up unbidden, quietly asking if he could sit with them again, Steve might just do another fist pump before giving Tony a peck on the cheek. He doesn’t think at all before doing it, but the way Tony’s face goes red makes it worth it._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve grows up, Tony grows tired.

When Steve walks into Tony’s room, he nearly trips right into him. The room’s, well, _cozy_ , and Tony is taking up roughly three quarters of the floor space.  
He’s got a large suitcase laid out and the contents of his wardrobe covering the bed and floor like a brightly colored war zone. His back is to the door and his shoulders are hunched. He tosses things into the case with no finesse. 

Steve navigates around him, sinking onto an empty spot on the bed, long legs bent awkwardly into the small space. At seventeen he had finally hit the elusive “growth spurt”, but Tony wasn’t so lucky. He was small as ever, and now sported a pair of large, almost comical, thick-rimmed glasses that Steve thought were truly adorable. He barely glanced at Steve when he entered, instead bending further over the case.  
“Tones?” Steve asks, hackles already raised by the stiff set of Tony’s shoulders. Tony looks up at him and Steve experiences déjà vu of days long past when he sees the tear tracks. Tony pushes his glasses away to wipe at his cheeks but it doesn’t do much to help.  
“Hey,” and his voice sounds awful, scratchy and raw and so very tired, in a way a fifteen year old really shouldn’t be.  
“What’s going on?” Steve asks, voice impossibly soft, as if he was trying to talk to a wild animal.

“I’m leaving,” Tony says with an air of finality.  
“Leaving?”  
“Howard thinks this school has been a “bad influence” on me. So he’s shipping me off,” Tony elaborates, ending with a dry laugh. Steve’s heart plummets.  
“Why didn’t you tell me? Where are you going?” Steve chokes out, and his vision seems to have blackened at the edges, tunneling in on Tony and his red-rimmed eyes magnified by the glasses now sliding down his nose.  
“I thought it’s be...easier. If I didn’t tell you. No need for a messy goodbye and all - guess that plan’s fucked all to hell now,” and Tony’s smile is gone now, eyes carefully blank as if the last six years meant nothing to him  
“What the hell! Easier? You think you disappearing one night without saying goodbye would be-“ Steve gulps in air because his lungs seem to have stopped working, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in years, “- _easier_ for me?” Steve thumps onto the floor before Tony. Wanting to reach out and touch and hold him here, stop him from leaving somehow, destroy the ever present shadow of Howard Stark that haunts every moment of Tony’s waking life and sometimes his dreams too.  
“You’re a selfish asshole, Tony Stark.” Steve says, not looking Tony in the eyes, too busy staring at the pattern of his carpet. Fascinating stuff there. Really. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” And that makes Steve look up, because Tony hasn’t apologised to him in what feels like years. Not since he was a timid little boy who stuttered when he was nervous. Steve could see that boy right now, and it made him want to eat his words. Tony was always the furthest thing from selfish.  
“No, you’re right. I’m sorry. It would have been easier for, for me,” Tony says, voice far away. 

“We can keep in contact, though, right? I could call Jarvis or-“  
“Or nothing, Steve. Howard’s been listening to my phone calls, the dick! So now he thinks this fucking school has, has ruined his son or something. Fuck.” Tony’s working himself up into a panic now, and Steve grabs at his shaking hands before he can pin them to his face and hide behind them.  
“What happened, Tony?” Steve says, trying to keep his voice calm even though he feels hysterical. It seemed surreal that Tony could just disappear from his life after they had become so close over these last years.  
“Howard found out.” Steve gave him a pointed look, and Tony swallowed compulsively before continuing,  
“That I’m gay, Steve, what did you _think_? He sure as hell didn’t use that term when he personally called me, but well. It’s Howard.” And Steve just stares. He knows it’s, well, rude, that he should be comforting him right about now, the kid had just come out to him while crying on the floor, if that wasn’t an appropriate moment for comfort when was?  
“You’re, uh. Um-“ Steve stutters. He realises they’re still holding hands and well.  
“You didn’t know?” Tony says, a weak laugh bubbling up. It almost reaches his eyes. “Jesus. You might need to work on your observational skills. But uh. Yeah. So he’s sending me away. I’m sorry, Steve. Really. You were my first friend.” They’re faces are so close now, and Steve tries his best to memorise the shapes and planes of Tony’s face. This still feels like some kind of fever dream. 

And then he’s sure it’s a dream, because Tony is pressing his lips against Steves, soft and chaste, before scrambling away, face red and eyes wide.  
“I’m sor-“ And Steve surges forward to capture Tony’s bottom lip between his teeth, for somehow the first and last time. He kisses Tony until there’s nothing left of him except the taste of Tony’s chapstick and the way his glasses bump awkwardly against Steve’s nose but it doesn’t matter because everything is perfect for this one moment. Tony fists his hands in Steves shirt, pulling him down, down, down until there pressed up against one another. Steve wonders whether drowning feels something like this. 

And then it’s over, and Tony is wiping reddened, glossy lips, glasses askew and dark hair falling across his forehead in a way Steve can’t describe in any way other than _perfect_.

Steve helps him pack. They kiss again and again, like the frantic, in love teens they are, and then Tony’s pulling his suitcase down the winding halls and out into the carpark. Steve follows behind, unwilling to take his eyes off Tony even for a moment. 

Jarvis arrives, the car much less flashy than Tony’s typical ride. But Steve gets the feeling this is one purpose. Tony has never been a flashy person, no matter how he likes to pretend. Jarvis is a soothing presence, like a rock firmly planted in the ocean that is the Stark family, but he somehow also brings the whole moment crashing down around them. It becomes real. 

When Tony finally disappears behind black-tinted windows and then out the gate, Steve stands in silence.

He’s there for a long time, before he sinks

down

 

down  
down

onto the ground and finally

cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets worse before it gets better...sorry Tony I swear I love you. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this far btw, love you guys!


	4. Chapter 4

 

Steve’s been riding on the edge of tipsy for the last half hour, coasting in that safe floaty space where everything is just a little funnier. It’s a good place to be. He doesn’t usually go to these parties, but Clint had promised entertainment and well, it’s something you have to experience at least once, right? Right. And Clint’s drunken darts game is certainly _entertaining_ , while a little worrying. At some point Nat had introduced a betting system and it’s only gone downhill since then. It’s safer to just turn the other way. He tries to search down anyone else he knows, but they’ve all disappeared into the surge of people and trying to recognise anyone in the low lighting is close to impossible.    

Steve’s debating whether to make a fumbling attempt at conversation with a stranger or to just brood on the couch when someone shoves into him. He feels time slowing for a moment as he loses balance, and it catches up with him with an empty cup and a stained shirt. The offender has already disappeared, so Steve, in an attempt to salvage his shirt, and his dignity, retreats to the nearest bathroom he can find.

The lighting inside is brutal, and Steve rubs his eyes as everything blurs. After he’s adjusted to the frigid lighting he looks and realises he’s not the only person inside. A kid is leaning against the sink closest to the door, wearing a button-up shirt that looks far too nice for this place. His dark hair hangs against his forehead, slick with sweat. Steve goes to step past him before freezing. He takes in the stranger again, gaze more piercing this time. He’s small, but the shirt is dwarfing him, making him seem even skinnier than he is. The overgrown hairs on the back of his neck are starting to curl. His fingers are long and graceful. A pianist’s hands, he’d been told once.

“Tony?” Steve asks, words barely tumbling out on the ghost of a breath, scared he’s wrong, even more scared he’s right.

The boy - Tony, God, it’s _Tony_  - looks up like a deer in headlights. His face is pale and gaunt, the bags under his eyes deeper than Steve had ever remembered them being. There’s the beginnings of a moustache and God, it’s like a twisted funhouse-mirror version of his best fucking friend and Steve doesn’t know what to say. Evidently Tony doesn’t either, his mouth gaping in a way that would be funny if he didn’t look so fucking sad.

Tony still hasn’t said anything, and his eyes drift away to look at the wall behind Steve. He sniffs and angrily pulls a hand over his eyes, and when he lifts it away Steve realises how red they are.

“Steve,” he says, throat dry, before coughing and spilling in a rush: “You sure do have a knack for catching me at my worst.” he laughs at their private joke. Steve just stares, dumb-founded. He suddenly remembers the sodden shirt he’s wearing but next to Tony he would look comparatively put together. Tony somehow looks both young and very old. He had always seemed older than he was, not just because of the way he talked and his brilliant mind, but the look he sometimes had in his eyes when he thought the attention wasn’t on him. Like he had already seen too much.

Steve, suddenly blank on anything to say (because what do you say to the love of your life after two years of nothing-), says, “So do you...go here?” It’s pretty hard to imagine Tony attending art school but well, Steve hardly knows him now, does he?

“No,” Tony says. He’s looking back into the mirror now. His hands are gripping the bench again.

“I came with my boyfriend,” Tony says, “or ex-boyfriend I suppose,” he adds under his breath. “He was my ride,” he adds in a tone of vague wonderment, like he had just realised it.

“I can drive you home,” Steve offers, unsure of where he stands right now. Or what the hell is going on with his best friend.

“You don’t-” Tony lets go of the bench and goes to step around Steve, who is still standing in the doorway, but he doesn’t make it that far. His legs seem to go out beneath him, and Steve leans forward and grabs him by the elbows. Tony clutches at Steve’s arms on reflex, and then there is no space between them, and Steve’s staring into Tony’s face which is open in a way Steve would describe as fragile in anyone else. But Tony was never weak. He couldn’t be.

Tony’s eyes are blown wide. There’s a fine tremor in his hands, that vibrates against Steve’s skin. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone.

“Are you high?” Steve chokes, and it seems ridiculous, Tony never even drank - refused to, really, but that clearly must have changed at some point - but Steve knows what it looks like. How could things have changed so much in only two years?

“Oh fuck off, Steve,” and Tony must have gotten his feet under him because he’s pushing away and Steve is suddenly aware of the fact he’s made a mistake, _making_ a mistake, and if he fucks this up he might lose Tony, again.

“Hey, no, it doesn’t matter, alright,” Steve says, and he sounds like an idiot but he won’t let this pass through his fingers, not Tony. “Just let me take you home, okay,” Tony narrows his eyes, but his desire to get the hell out clearly wins over everything else, because he lets himself be led out of the House. Steve texts Nat when they’re out front, _something’s come up, see you Sat,_ before searching out his car. It’s a pretty crappy one, and Steve’s mind involuntarily reminds him of the kind of rides Tony was used to, but he pushes the thought away. He’s just starting it up when he realises he doesn’t know where the hell he’s going.

“MIT campus, Tony says, before Steve even has a chance to ask. Of course. Steve wants to grin at that. Of course Tony’s 17 and at fucking MIT. Tony’s leaning against the window, and looks miles away.

Steve’s been on the road for a few minutes before Tony breaks the silence.

“Sorry about this, I guess, you probably weren’t planning on chauffeuring around your fuck-up friend from high school. Great way to spend a Friday night, I’ve heard.”

Steve want’s to say _there’s nothing I would rather be doing_ but instead he says, “It’s alright.” He’s never pretended to be brave.

“So what were you doing out here?” Steve asks, just for something to say, so he can hear Tony’s voice again. Pretend that they still knew each other.

“Hanging out with some of Ty’s arty friends. Ty is - he’s a fucking dick. I can’t leave him for one fucking second before he’s all fucking over someone else. But I guess I can’t say much because now I’m here with _you_.” Steve has no idea what any of that is supposed to mean, and his mind is still tripping over the way Tony had said ‘ _you’_ , dark with meaning. He realises Tony is still talking, half incoherent mumbling about Ty and cheating and someone called Sunset. He hums in understanding, anyway. It’s hard to imagine Tony dating someone, let alone some kind of asshole. A thought passes about Howard Stark and what he thinks of it, but Steve shoos it away. He has Tony here, and talking, and he’s not going to make the mistake of bring _him_ up.

“Turn left here,” Tony sighs, and it’s only a few minutes before they’re outside an apartment complex. It’s gotten cold, and Steve wishes he’d brought a jacket. He could offer it to Tony.

“Should I walk you up-” Tony grins at that, and he looks like a hunter, teeth bright in the darkness. “You sure know how to romance a guy,” and Steve takes that as a _yes_ , because Tony is still pressed against his side.

Tony’s place is nice, of course, and Steve stands at the door for a moment, debating. Before he comes to a decision, though, he looks up to see Tony staring at him, gaze analysing. “Want a clean shirt? Ty’s will probably fit you and I don’t really need them anymore,” He tries to sound nonchalant but it falls flat. Steve doesn’t get a chance to reply before Tony is already disappearing into the bedroom.

While he’s gone, Steve allows himself inside. The lounge is a large open space, with white furniture and art deco furnishings. It doesn’t look overly lived in, aside from the whiskey tumblers and empty decanter on the coffee table. Steve’s eyes drift to a side table with a few photos, and one of Tony and a tall blonde guy catches his eye. The stranger’s holding Tony up with Tony’s legs wrapped around his waist and his arms resting against his shoulders. Steve wonders if this is Ty. He looks a little like Steve, but his hair is longer and styled back. His eyes seem cold, but that might just be Steve’s imagination.

“Here you go.” Something is flung Steve’s way, and he catches it reflexively. He looks down to see a plain tee and an MIT jersey. “You might get cold,” Tony says, and Steve can hear the smile in his voice.

“You sure you aren’t just showing off?” Steve replies, grinning himself, and it feels like old times.

“If I was showing off I would be telling you about how I’ve already graduated - summa cum laude - and am working on my phd.”

“Oh shut up,” Steve laughs, “That’s amazing.” Tony looks a little surprised at that. He always was when Steve expressed any kind of amazement or admiration at his work. As if to him it wasn’t really impressive. Just expected.

“Yeah well, what can I say? I’m just that good.” Tony replies after a moment, and it’s something Steve’s seen before, this fake veneer of confidence, that Tony likes to wrap himself in, but it never used to fit so well, or slide into place so easily. The smile he gives almost looks sincere.

Steve changes in Tony’s bathroom, and wonders what the hell he’s doing. He can hardly just pick up where they had left off. Sure Tony might technically be single, but he’s also a mess. Steve knows that if he asked Tony would let him stay (maybe more), can see it in the way Tony looks at him, but he would never forgive himself if he did. But maybe -

“You done in there, big guy?” Tony asks through the door, and when Steve steps out, he’s holding a glass of something that looks like whiskey.

“You staying?” Tony asks, and the hope in his voice is faint, but definitely there. He looks tired. And strung out. Steve wants to hold him close. Punch whoever it is that made Tony this way. He thinks he might have to punch a lot of people.

“I’ve got work in the morning,” _At eleven,_ he doesn’t say. “But we could catch up sometime, when we’re not drunk,” he smiles, puts Tony’s number into his phone, and backs towards the door. He has to leave now or he wouldn’t at all.

Tony stops him at the door, hugs him. He’s got his head tucked under Steve’s chin, and they fit together like puzzle pieces. Just before he lets go, he leans up, pecks Steve’s cheek. It’s innocent, and reminds Steve of being nine years old, trading kisses before bed, when there were no ulterior motives.

“Night, Steve.” Tony pulls away.

“Night, Tony.”

And they are on separate sides of Tony’s door.

 

Just as Steve is getting into his car, his phone vibrates. Just as he opens it he sees a text from Tony.

_I think it’s time for a do over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I'm updating this. After nine months. oops

**Author's Note:**

> if theres any terrible mistakes in this lemme know. im not from America so im probably gonna fuck the language up entirely! yay me


End file.
